Biro's Inspiratos

Lloyd Biro finally speaks!

Sadly not to us.

Although he has broken his vow of silence he has pointedly refused to enter into any communication with this glamorous internet magazine.

Hopefully this will change soon. In the meantime our anticipation grows like genetically modified crops.

Watch this space. Biro may be amongst us soon. Or he may be an august monk soon.

IN THE MEANTIME HERE ARE SOME STUNNNING REVIEWS OF FANTASTIC THINGS THAT HAVE OCCURED. BY DEAR OLD LLOYD BIRO HIMSELF!

Review of Janes Addiction at The Hammersmith Apollo:12/11/03

by Lloyd Biro.

When I was a relatively fresh faced youth in the early 90s,I went through a phase of thinking live bands were crap,as they couldn't compare to the driving energy of dance music.Who needed some lame indie drummers and strummers when you could have pounding 909s and shrieking 303s?
The band who changed my mind was Del Amitrie. Just kidding!It was,of course,Janes Addiction,who had the rhythmic urgency,the sonic invention and,most importantly,the rush,the excitement of Acid House,or whatever we were calling it at the time.Imagine my sadness as they split up about a week after I got into them.Now imagine my happiness, when they reformed and released a brilliant album this year,then came over to play.
The gig began with guitarist Dave Navarro striding to the front of the stage,arms aloft in victorious pose.Even before the huge slab-like chords of opener "Up The Beach" descended upon us,you knew it was going to be epic.
Then,to even more screaming,Perry Farrell came out to yell "Stop!" starting the show proper.The sound was huge.I looked to the side of the stage and saw Navarro and Farrell in giant-size silhouette,projected onto the wall,looming out over the audience like the vampyric shadows in Coppolas Dracula.
For large parts of the show,Farrells voice was inaudible under the grooving,rolling,banging riffs,but it didn't seem to matter,such was his charisma.He spent the entire time mincing around the stage,part pixie,part Michael Flatley which,confusingly,was the coolest performance,or,as he put it,"celebration of life" that I've ever seen.Later he told all the males in the audience to let their girlfriends spank their arses when they got home,which kind of fitted my plans anyway.
The songs cascaded over us,the new ones as good and well received as the classics,though "Been Caught Stealing" was predictably special.And finally it was over.I know I use the word too much,but it had been AWESOME.
They're back in the summer.Even if you don't like rock...go see 'em.

Review of Pedestal at The Glasshouse 24/01/04

by Lloyd Biro.

Pedestal is a new night for women who feel they belong on one and men who agree.Having missed the reportedly storming opening night,we were determined to get to the follow up.Apparently we were not the only ones to have heard good things,as the club was absolutely packed.This is usually a fly in my ointment,but there was certainly a buzz about the place and an intensity that comes from knowing that pretty much everyone in the room shares a similar philosophy. Dark pulsing electronica provided the sound-track,punctuated by noises from the crowd,as whips cracked,canes thwacked,arses got smacked and grown men cried.Alot.The equipment was excellent and I became somewhat attached to a huge metal pyramid frame,the like of which I'd not seen previously.The women looked amazing,the men looked respectfully and all seemed right in the world. Plans for the morning prevented us from staying as long as we would have liked,but it was obvious that the night was a success.Sadly,the next Pedestal isn't until May,but will be returning with more space and,hopefully,more of the same

Torture Garden Beach Party at Egg 23/08/03

By Lloyd Biro.

Seemingly warier than Saddam Hussain,when it comes to spending consecutive nights in the same location,Torture Garden took place in cool hot-spot of the moment,Egg.
Was it a row of tents?No,it was me in my rubber sailors outfit,which was enhanced in its projection of sea-faring toughness,by the garland of flowers placed round my neck by an "island beauty".
Having a beach party,with sandy shore and swimming pool,was a great idea. Sadly,I was reminded more of a day-trip to Frinton,than a tropical island,as I sat,shivering,watching a beauty competition.The green woman on stilts was robbed,by the way,unless she was disqualified for attacking one of her fellow contestants with her handbag.
Inside,the usual stuff was going on,though the SM side of things seemed somewhat muted.Maybe sun,sea and surf are unconducive to torture.Still,even full-time pervs need a holiday.

Review of LFS Christmas Party 06/12/03

by Lloyd Biro.

The London Fetish Scene website is probably the best way to find out what perversity the capital (and beyond) has to offer at any given time.So when they announced that they were throwing a bash in a good cause,namely themselves,it seemed not only my duty,but,more importantly,my pleasure to go along and support them in any way I could.That "way" turned out to be getting tied up and spanked 'til my bottom turned purple,but hey,you do what you can.
I can't say much about the music room as I wasn't down there very much,but the atmosphere upstairs was fantastic:serious enthusiasts having serious fun,enthusiastically,on a good range of good equipment.
I did venture downstairs briefly,to see a guy doing weird things with an industrial blow torch.Since the act consisted of fire-blasting a metal chest plate,blasting a metallic plate on his groin,moving back to the chest plate,then the groin....(you get the idea),I quickly drifted back upstairs,but the sparks were pretty and I got to hear "Scarecrow" by Ministry,which brought back memories of times gone by. My mood was slightly dampened by a guy sticking his tongue in my mouth without asking,but he did apologise and say I was pretty (before repeating both kiss and apology to a guy standing a few feet away),so that was alright then.
The night ended and we all trudged off into the snow (or would have done,had there been any),feeling festive and warm(though slightly cold).Well done LFS,do another one soon.

Review of Club Lash at The Tunnel,Manchester 09/07/04

by Lloyd Biro.

This was my first visit to a fetish night outside London.Sitting on the train,drinking Bacardi,I was remembered famous nazi-appeaser Neville Chamberlains' words,about people from distant lands,about whom we know nothing.Apparently,they're always trying to bring down Fidel Castro (Bacardi,not the people of Manchester),so I'm strictly on vodka-based alco-pops from now on,but that's somewhat irrelevant.
Anyway,I descended the steps into The Tunnel and was warmly greeted by the lovely Rosie Lugosi.I was so moved by this welcome,that I considerately retreated up the stairs,before coating my trousers in shiny spray,ensuring that the risk of asphyxiation was mine alone.
This friendly vibe seemed to pervade the whole club,which was devoid of the "cool" attitude you often find in London.People were happy,chatty and here to enjoy themselves on the fine selection of equipment in the dungeon area. Having road-tested a bench,if that isn't too contradictory,I relaxed and watched a guy who looked almost Zorro-esque,but was clearly more of an Indiana Jones fan,displaying his whipping skills on a willing victim.Then I spoke to Michael,of Roissy Workshops,who impressed me with his expertise on the subject of "electrocuting people with weird gadgets."
The night passed quickly and,with Lash closing at two,there was just time for a quick bop to electro-pop,before leaving.Being in a club where people came to talk and have fun,rather than bitch and pose,was a very pleasurable experience-more refreshing than a pineapple Bacardi and less morally dubious.next time I'm in Manchester,I'll have the same again.

The Gate at Wicked 12/09/03

By Lloyd Biro.

Having become confused and nearly gone to a drum 'n' bass night by mistake (the abundance of baseball-capped geezers,none of whom were wearing rubber,alerted me),I was glad to enter the welcoming,though simultaneously forbidding environment of The Gate.With the main area of the club being used for less wicked purposes,we were confined to the dark,stark,dungeonesque arches to the side.
This suited the no messing,play-hard atmosphere and hard play it was.One woman was whipping her man so fiercely,it brought a tear to my eye let alone his. There was no dancing,no music,except for a brief spell,just serious SM-ers,drinking,talking,playing,watching.People were friendly enough,but very much there to do their own thing with the wide range of equipment that filled two of the arches.
The price of admission may be off-putting to some and it's probably not the place to dip your toe in the waters of fetish life.But if you really want to hurt the one you love,this could be the place to take them.

Torture Garden Halloween Special:Mass 01/11/03

By Lloyd Biro.

I arrived in a tired and emotional state,not helped by my drunkeness,nor by the fact that I'd had a needle stuck through my foreskin when I wasn't in the mood. In this less than cheery condition and aware that it's unwise to be rowing with someone who is carrying a variety of whips,crops and canes,I was not,in all honesty,really up for this night.
Questions such as,"Who are these freaks?"and"What the fuck am I doing here?" flickered through my mind.The moments of beauty,fun and craziness that had characterized previous TG nights seemed fake,the people alien,the idea of an SM community preposterous.It was Halloween in my soul,a scary movie,like a bad night on pills,everyone else having a good time while you feel disconnected and lonely.
At times like this,you need people to help you.I owe gratitude to my girlfriend for talking to me when throttling me must have seemed a better move,to her mate Gavin,who looked amusingly cute in his devil horns,the freaks for being beautifully freakish and,fairly importantly,to the bouncer who resisted the temptation to give me a severe kicking when I gave him a mouthful (of abuse).
Slowly,it dawned on me that I was the villain of this nightmare and that SM,like drug abuse,is best approached from a condition of relative mental stability. Then,as in all good horror flicks,the dawn dawned and we went to a fantastic after-party that confirmed that (with the possible exception of myself) Torture Garden had been full of lovely people all along.

Review of Torture Garden at Mass 17/04/03

by Lloyd Biro.

A girl kneels in front of a seated male.She takes out his cock and begins to suck,her head bobbing rhythmically.Eventually,she climbs astride him and begins to fuck him,her hips rising and falling as her head was earlier.I know this because I am sitting next to them,talking to a guy called Ally about tattoos,in the chill out room at Torture Garden.
My mind,however,is neither on tattoos or fucking,as I am still haunted by the image of a six foot rabbit,more Jessica than Harvey,dancing,with a sailor,to 50s rock'n'roll in the 2nd room.the main room has the blistering,heavily percussive trance that I was expecting.
Harsh,hard hitting music is,I guess,an obvious choice for people who like hitting or being hit hard,but I find the classical music in the dungeon room more suited to the dark sensual mood of SM.Here people bemoan the presence of those upstairs,who enjoy the dressing up but not the torture.What,I find myself thinking,of those who like the pain and punishment,but don't like wearing the uniform?Why,I find myself wondering,does a group which talks so much about freedom of ___expression need such a strict dress code?I think of Camille Paglias opinion,that SM flourishes in times of freedom,because people desire hierarchy,freedom from freedom.
Then I feel a hand on my pvc-clad arse,and it feels nice.I remember I'm here to enjoy myself,not to philosophise. To summarise,then,Torture Garden:people were having fun.

Review of Club Rub at Dukes,12/04/03

by Lloyd Biro.

I had,as a young man,legless on Special Brew,stumbled into a fetish club many years previously.I vaguely remember crawling on the floor,but whether this was as an act of worship to a beautiful amazon,or as a result of being unable to stand,I am unsure.So it was nice to be more sober for Club Rubs medical themed birthday night.
With crunching techno-trance playing to a crowd of doctors and nurses,a naked (bar balaclava) male here,a pair of adult babies there,it was a little like a Holby City christmas party episode,where ravers hijack the sound system and spike the punch with acid,causing a dionysian revel to break out among the characters.This,in my opinion,was a good thing.
I was struck,repeatedly,by a friend,but also by the friendliness and polite behaviour of the partiers.Was it De Sade who said there is no person more civilised than a pervert?No,but it's the kind of thing he might have said,had he been present at Club Rub.
The playroom,like the life of Jesus,was littered with people being whipped,kissing feet or being tied to a cross,and I became convinced that there is a spiritual element to SM.I may not have seen God,but I definitely saw a goddess or two.
Afterwards we got a lift home from a TV star whose car had been purchased because it matched her beautiful cobalt blue eye shadow.Now that's what I call glamourous.

Review of Skin2 Cabaret Night at The Red Rose Comedy Club ,28/02/04

by Lloyd Biro.

I entered the Red Rose in a state of near exhaustion and total sobriety,desperate for some booze to wake myself up.The first thing I saw was a guy in a corset,blowing his horn.He was,of course,the leader of jazz band Kinky Sax,who,sadly,were not purveyors of dark,grimy,Twin Peaks style sonic disturbance,but of trad standards like "Take Five."Nothing wrong with that and I enjoyed them,but it was a sign that the night was not going to be the dark comedy-headfuck I had been conjuring in my mind.
And so it proved.There were acts at different stages of development,who tickled my funny bone with varying degrees of success,but I began to question the wisdom of the whole idea.It's not that I can't laugh at aspects of the fetish life-style,in fact,that seemed to be part of the problem.Many of the SM-related jokes and observations were the sort of thing I've heard or said myself in the company of fellow perves,whereas the presence of non enthusiasts meant that nothing could be said,that required a deep level of knowledge of the scene.I think this lead to a dilemma for the performers-baffle one half of the audience or seem obvious to the other.
We had to leave halfway through the entertainment and perhaps I just wasn't drunk enough,but I was far from convinced as we left.

Review of Whacko at The Fountain 28/02/04

by Lloyd Biro.

Descending the staircase,to be greeted by the lovely Helga,I drank in the warm,friendly atmosphere,before drinking a cold Smirnoff Ice.
With a well dressed,yet non-posy crowd in highly sociable mood,it wasn't long before I was feeling warm and friendly myself.It was a bit like a more relaxed Club Rub (see Bubble Jam 14),with people having a bop in between chats with friends rather than vice versa.
When the time came to dance,the music was similarly relaxed,being groovy,occasionally banging,but happy to do things other than tear your head off,such as having melodies.
The play-room was also unfrenetic,with people dipping their toes rather than submerging themselves in pervery.
On a busy night,we again had to leave early,so I don't know if things got more hectic after we left,but I departed with a warm glow in my heart,aswell as my backside.

Review of Saturdays at Ministry Of Sound 28/02/04

by Lloyd Biro.

Third stop on my big night out was The Ministry.I had never been before,as the whole "Super Club" thing has intimidated me ever since Liverpool dance legend Cream refused to let me in for wearing trainers in the early 90s.
We had been enticed by the prospect of Jon Carter and Medicine8 in Acid House Revival mode,but were immediately bad-vibed upon entry.People may call me bitter,because I was expecting to get in on the guest list,rather than pay £15 for two hours,but the cold,moody bouncer was looking at us like we were shit on his shoe before we even spoke (maybe he didn't like the fetish clothes).
We entered the sparsely populated middle room and began to shake,not because of the music,but because of the cold.Still,at least we were dancing,if only to get warm. Things were more pumping in the Acid room,with Carter playing some good stuff,but to a strangely subdued and introverted crowd.People were obviously drugged to the eyeballs,but not on anything that made them look outside their own circle.
Medicine8,who I have heard play storming sets,seemed uninspired and unable to lift the atmosphere.
I was forced to conclude that people can revive Acid House,but Acid House can't revive corpses.